Eyes Wide Open
by EFAW
Summary: Jimmy Palmer talked to dead people. They'd just never talked back before. Oneshot.


**Summary: **Jimmy Palmer talked to dead people. They'd just never talked back before. Oneshot.

**Warnings:** None, really. Dead people. Ghosts. No particular time period it's set in. Probably pre-Breena, but that's not really a necessity. Just whenever.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own NCIS or any recognizable characters from the show. Anyone you don't recognize from the show is mine.

**So, this is my forty-fifth fanfiction. I meant to post number 45 before 2012 started, but I never got around to writing it. Still, I don't think this is such a bad start to the new year. So here is a brand new fic all about our favorite autopsy gremlin.**

**Enjoy!**

**OOOO**

**Eyes Wide Open**

Jimmy Palmer talked to dead people.

It was a habit he'd picked up. Dr. Mallard had the exclusive right to pratter on to the dead, of course, seeing as he was senior medical examiner and Jimmy was just his assistant -or, in Tony's words, the 'autopsy gremlin'. But Jimmy had acquired the trait as well. He greeted them when they arrived in the morgue. He tended to apologize for what he was about to do, as autopsy was a rather intrusive process. He talked through his actions when he was cleaning and preparing the bodies. And he said goodnight, or goodbye, when he put them away. He hardly even noticed he did it anymore, it was so second nature.

Monday was no different. Flicking on the lights, he hung up his coat and set his stuff down, eyeing the body bag laid out on the table. Humming quietly to himself, he disappeared into the back room, returning a few minutes later in scrubs. He picked up the folder on Dr. Mallard's desk, flipped it open and did a quick perusal of the information. Then he set the folder down and moved over to the table, moving with the sure efficiency of the habitual.

"Good morning, Captain," Jimmy said cheerfully, unzipping the body bag. "I know this is probably going to be awkward, but have no fear. The doctor and I are absolute professionals, and Dr. Mallard is the best at what he does. We'll take good care of you." Folding up the body bag and setting it to the side, he turned and gathered his instruments for preparing and cleaning the body.

"It's quite alright, you know."

Jimmy started, the objects on his tray clattering sharply on the tray. No one was supposed to be here yet. He turned slowly, remembering stories about Ari Haswari and not wishing to repeat Gerald's misfortune.

There were now two other figures in autopsy; one was laid out prone on the table. The other stood beside the table, staring down at the body with sad eyes.

Shocked, too shocked to even move, Jimmy stared as Captain Jonathan Shire, recently deceased as of 2:37 this morning, looked up and gave a mournfully sad smile.

"I understand how this sort of thing works. But thank you for the respect."

Jimmy dropped the tray.

Jimmy Palmer talked to dead people.

They'd just never talked back before.

**XXXX**

Jimmy ignored the ghost. Or tried to, at least. His hands shook while he prepared the body, and his voice was tremulous as he spoke.

What made it worse was the interest in the dead captain's gaze as he leaned over and watched what Jimmy was doing.

When Dr. Mallard came in, Jimmy quietly hoped against hope that the older man would make a comment. What, he wasn't sure. 'Oh, Mr. Palmer, I see you've found a ghost today. That reminds me of this one time in Edinburgh…'

But all Jimmy got was praise for another wonderful cleaning job and concern about his pale face.

Jimmy took the day off. It seemed best. He promptly went home and curled into bed, hoping it was all just a horrid dream.

The ghost stayed at the morgue.

Dr. Mallard was a competent medical examiner, and even without Jimmy's help he managed the autopsy with aplomb. It took less than a day to determine the cause of death. Heart attack. The Captain was well liked by everyone, had no financial or familial problems, and had a fondness for red meat and cheeseburgers. He was a fifty-year old man who'd simply dropped dead of a heart attack after lunch. It was one of the easy cases that didn't come around often.

Jimmy was there for none of it. He stayed home for two more days, calling every day to ask Abby about the captain's case. He stayed home until the captain's daughter flew in from Montana and picked up the body.

He didn't go back to work until Thursday, when he was _sure_ the captain's ghost wouldn't be hanging around anymore. With the body gone, he was pretty sure it was alright.

He met Dr. Mallard on the elevator. Dr. Mallard inquired after his health, and Jimmy smiled and lied about the flu, which happily got Dr. Mallard onto one of his tangents and, more importantly, _off_ of Jimmy's condition.

And then they walked into autopsy, and Captain Jonathan Shire lifted his head, looking disgruntled and frustrated.

"Well, it's about _time_ you came back."

Jimmy passed out in the doorway.

**XXXX**

He woke up on the floor of Abby's lab, tucked into her futon, her music turned to tolerably quiet levels. He groaned when he realized the captain was there, sitting on the edge of Abby's desk, watching him. Waiting for him to wake up.

Abby bounced inside. "Jimmy! Are you alright? It's not your sugar levels, Ducky checked. Are you still sick? You should have stayed home if you're still sick. You're no good to us passing out on the floor." She helped him sit up, setting him in her chair and fussing, putting his glasses on his nose, straightening his shirt, doing just general Abby-things.

Jimmy didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say. The captain was watching him, and he wasn't sure Abby would believe him anyway.

Abby's fluttering hands stopped, and her eyes widened. "Oh! I have to go tell Ducky you're up! Be right back!" Before he could protest, she'd spun out of the room and away. He got up and followed her, reaching the main lab just as the elevator doors closed. Jimmy turned, eyeing his unwanted companion.

Gravely, the dead man said, "She's right, you know. You shouldn't be here if you're sick."

Jimmy groaned and dropped his head in his hands.

It wasn't because he was sick. He had no fever, his blood was clean of any infections or known viruses, and while he didn't ask for Abby to test for it, Jimmy was pretty sure he hadn't accidentally ingested any sort of hallucinogens lately. He hadn't received any traumatic brain injuries, his blood sugar was perfectly fine, and all his hormones were at the right levels for his age.

There was absolutely no explanation for why he'd just suddenly started seeing ghosts.

Dr. Mallard sent him home, with an admonishment to "rest up and eat something nutritious. I expect to see you tomorrow bright and early, Mr. Palmer. So take care of yourself." Despite the apparent gruffness, Jimmy could tell Dr. Mallard was worried. There was no apparent reason for Jimmy to have just fainted like that, and Jimmy certainly couldn't tell him the real reason. That would just cause problems.

So instead, he gathered his things, thanked Abby for use of her futon, and said goodbye to Dr. Mallard. The older man looked like he wanted to walk him out, but there was a case. Jimmy just waved and assured the doctor that he'd be fine and he'd rest plenty.

Apparently, the captain thought Jimmy was a flight risk, because he started following the medical assistant. "It's not like I'm actually tethered to anything, now that my body is gone," the captain helpfully explained, ignoring Jimmy's slight flinch as he spoke. "And if you leave, you probably won't come back again, so I might as well hang around, right? Wow, those walls are really orange, aren't they? This is kind of cool, actually. You know, once you get over the being-dead part…"

He was going insane. That's what this was. He was being followed by a chatty ghost who wouldn't stop talking about anything that came to his eye. It wasn't very Navy of the man. Jimmy had to be going insane. Once he'd ruled everything else out, that was the only explanation that made sense.

Well, that or a brain tumor. He wasn't sure which one made him feel worse.

Jimmy didn't say a word on the way home -though the captain just kept nattering on and on- and by the time he got home and fell into bed, he really did feel sick.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do.

**XXXX**

He finally snapped on Friday, which, all things considered, probably did him some good.

They'd just received the body of Lt. Karoline Hughes, a body that was blessedly free of any ghosts. Jimmy, however, wasn't free of the captain. He did his best to absolutely ignore the captain as he cleaned the body. To his credit, the captain maintained a respectful silence while Jimmy worked.

Respectful, at least, until Jimmy carefully cut her shirt away and he saw the sixteen stab wounds in her torso.

"Damn." The captain looked nauseous, and a little angry. "I hope you find the bastards that did that. She didn't deserve that."

"Enough!" Jimmy slammed the scissors on the table, glaring at the dead captain through bloodshot eyes. Despite Dr. Mallard's words, he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep last night, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could handle a ghost following him and commenting on _everything he did_. "_Enough!_ What do you _want_ from me?"

The captain watched him, hands folded behind his back. He waited until Jimmy had stopped having hysterics.

Then he said, very calmly, "I want you to write my brother a letter."

Jimmy stared.

And then it clicked.

_Oh_.

Jimmy sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. He didn't know whether he should laugh or cry.

**XXXX**

He managed to compose himself enough to finish the job before Dr. Mallard returned, which was a relief. He wasn't sure how Dr. Mallard would have reacted, seeing his assistant a mess on the floor, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be sent home again. Not when the captain's ghost would just follow him there again.

He had to tell someone. He was jumping every time the captain spoke, and Dr. Mallard was staring to give him worried looks he could all too easily interpret. And on a break, when he'd been feeding bills into the vending machine, someone had touched his arm. Jimmy had shouted and whirled around, flinging an arm out and solidly whacking Tony in the cheek.

Tony had just stared at him, rubbing the side of his face. "Woah, Palmer, no more Caf-Pow for you. Take a chill pill, man."

Mortified, Jimmy scurried off, leaving his candy bar behind and not even caring.

He couldn't keep this up. It was already affecting his work. The captain seemed eerily eager in the autopsy process, and he made inquisitive comments that distracted Jimmy, because it took everything he had not to answer the questions. He was jumpy, and paranoid, and nervous, and if he wasn't crazy already, then this would drive him insane.

He had to talk to someone.

What he needed was a confidant, someone he could go to, to talk about this. Someone he could bounce ideas off of. Someone who wouldn't immediately want him institutionalized because of the things he claimed he could see. Someone he could trust with this secret, who wouldn't judge him, but who would support him and, if possible, help him make the ghost go away.

Gibbs? The idea was laughable.

Dr. Mallard? For a moment, Jimmy considered it. The he shook his head. As much as he respected Dr. Mallard, he didn't have any proof to back up his story, and he didn't want Dr. Mallard's opinion of him to lower because of this. Someone else, then.

McGee? He was nice enough, though there were times when he acted a bit like Tony. Plus, he was more of a computer/science/empirical evidence type of guy. He would probably need proof too, and Jimmy just didn't have it.

Tony would just laugh. His relationship with the senior agent was alright, but not the type where he could reveal something like this.

Ziva? No. Despite her amazing collection of boots and an open mind and willingness to believe in things that weren't immediately observable, frankly, she scared him. He might go to her as a last resort. Not as a first resort.

He simply didn't have the relationship with anyone else to approach anyone about this. He was closest to Agent's Gibbs's team mostly because Dr. Mallard was so close to Agent Gibbs. There was no one else he could consider.

Except Abby.

Jimmy raised his eyes to the ceiling, as though he could see right through to the forensic Goth's lab.

Abby was a good friend. She hung out with him, and if he told her this, she might -big _might_- believe him. But she was a lot like McGee; very science/computer based. She liked evidence. It talked to her the way dead bodies talked to Dr. Mallard. That made Jimmy uncertain. What if she wanted proof he didn't have and couldn't get? As sweet as she was, if she didn't believe him and thought he was sick, she would go to Dr. Mallard or Agent Gibbs, and then Jimmy would be in the same boat as before.

On the other hand, Abby also believed in curses and charms, and she bowled with nuns. Abby had the most open, accepting mind in the world.

Maybe…maybe it would be okay if he told Abby…

Jimmy pursed his lips, took a fortifying breath, and walked upstairs.

**XXXX**

She didn't want him institutionalized. That was a good sign.

She didn't quite believe him, either, not exactly. She believed that _he_ believed in what he was seeing. She just didn't believe he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

She thought he should talk to Dr. Mallard.

"I can't do that!"

She crossed her arms and stared at him. "Why not?"

"Because!" He flailed a little, knocking something over. It was plastic; it bounced and rolled to a stop beside her boot. Her knee-high, buckled leather boot, cross-crossed with chains and zippers. It had rhinestone skulls instead of shoelace eyeholes, and the laces were pink-and-black stripes, and they were an impressive new addition to her collection of bad-ass footwear. No one had footwear like Abby…

"Palmer. Focus." A be-ringed, black-nailed hand snapped in front of his face. "Ghosts, not shoes."

He blushed and jerked his eyes from her shoes. She wore a bemused look, like she was at once worried and trying not to laugh. It was a rather odd look. She pulled it off.

"I can't tell Dr. Mallard," he repeated, eyes darting towards the door to her lab. Not because he was afraid Dr. Mallard might come in right at that moment, but because Captain Shire was studying Abby's pictures, frowning as he tried to work out what they were.

Jimmy let out a breath, turning back to Abby. "If I tell Dr. Mallard, he'll just get…worried. I don't want him to think less of me because of it. But Abby, you have to believe me. I'm really seeing this. And I need your help."

Abby stared at him, looking him right in the eye. He tried not to feel uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

Jimmy swallowed, leaning back against the counter, and didn't look over when the captain asked, "Why is there a hippo wearing a collar on her desk?"

"Look, Abby, please. I can't concentrate. I can't do my job. I need this to stop."

This didn't seem to make her believe him any more than she had. If anything, it made her look _more_ worried. Jimmy was starting to regret going to her. He should have just dealt with this on his own. How hard was it to write a letter? If the ghost was real, then the ghost would have gone away with the finished letter. If the ghost wasn't real and it was all in his head, well, then the hallucination would still probably go away with the letter. What had he been _thinking_?

Black nails and silver rings touched his arm, and he blinked, looking down at Abby's worried face. Her hand tightened on his arm.

"Jimmy. You have to talk to Ducky. If it's affecting your work, then it's a _problem_. You need help."

Oh yeah. _This_ was definitely a mistake.

The autopsy assistant sighed, running his hand through his hair. Backpedaling as fast as he could, he said, "Look, Abby, I'm sorry for worrying you. It's probably just stress and…and me getting over being sick. I'll be fine."

She didn't look convinced. She was also getting that stubborn look in her eye. Jimmy knew what _that _meant. He had to work fast before she ran off to Ducky or Agent Gibbs no matter what he said.

"Look, today's almost done, and we've got the whole weekend. I'll go home, and I'll rest, and drink lots of fluids, and I'll just…relax. If the problem hasn't gone away by Monday, I'll tell Dr. Mallard. Promise. Okay?"

After a long minute, Abby nodded, though she still looked worried and a bit stubborn. "Alright. But Monday morning, if the problem hasn't gone away, you _will_ talk to Ducky. I'll drag you down there myself if I have to."

Jimmy smiled weakly. "I'm sure that won't be necessary. Bye, Abby." As quickly and politely as possible, he excused himself from the Goth's lab. Well, that had bought him two more days. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if this thing didn't clear up by Monday -he wasn't a good enough liar to tell Abby that everything was fine when it wasn't.

But Monday was a long way off. He still had two days. Two days to try and get rid of this annoying ghost following him around.

That was plenty of time.

**XXXX**

On Saturday, Jimmy tried to exorcise the ghost.

He spent the morning at the library. He strained his eyes looking up all sorts of new-age remedies and old fashioned exorcism rites he could do at home. He probably got carpal tunnel writing so many notes, and he knew he earned a few annoyed glances from the librarians because of all the pages he printed and copied. But by two, he had an armful of papers and he was willing to try any and all of them if something would just _work_.

Right now, he was just throwing crap at the wall and seeing what stuck, but if _something_ in here did the job, then he wasn't going to complain.

Captain Shire watched with amusement as Jimmy went out and got the ingredients he needed. A lot of the stuff, surprisingly, he was able to buy at his local grocery store. Some of the stuff, like the candles and incense and crystals, he had to go to the new age-y shop in the next county. One stop was at his local butcher, where he shamefaced-ly asked for a container of chicken's blood and a container of pig's blood. Jimmy hurried out of that store mortified from the look the butcher had given him and vowing never to go back. (Captain Shire seemed to find _that_ particular trip utterly laughable.)

In the end, Jimmy dragged six bags of items up to his apartment. With the good captain watching from the couch, Jimmy took the first ritual from the stack of papers and began setting it up.

The chicken-blood pentagram with candles, incense, and a bowl of burning spices? Did nothing.

Sixteen candles and a Latin chant he struggled through? It made the captain's image flicker for a moment, but then the ghost was sitting solidly on the couch again.

The one with an iron poker, eggs, and a different blend of spices involved Jimmy slathering the egg-spice mixture on the poker, setting it on fire, and stabbing it through the ghost. That one made the captain disappear in an explosion of smoke. It also put a hole in his couch and charred his seat cushions, but since it was the eighth exorcism he'd tried, he considered it a win.

After an hour, when he'd cleaned the poker and put most of the ingredients away, the captain reappeared on the couch again, looking annoyed and stubbornly solid. Jimmy groaned and got out the supplies again.

By three in the morning, he'd gone through all the rituals and chants he'd found at the library and gotten nothing. A few corporeal flickerings, only one true dissolution, and no permanent banishment. With Captain Shire watching him, he sluggishly cleaned up the remaining ingredients he had, drank some water for his sore throat (Latin chants were hell on the vocal cords; who knew?) and stumbled off to bed.

As he was drifting off to sleep, he thought he heard the television turn on.

Great. The ghost watched TV. Well, why not? Jimmy's life couldn't get any weirder than this.

**XXXX**

Sunday brought a modicum of panick and desperation. Jimmy only had one day left to figure out how to get the ghost to leave, or else Abby would drag him down to Dr. Mallard and _that_ was a conversation Jimmy wanted to avoid at all costs.

Bleary-eyed, Jimmy forced down a bowl of cereal and watched the captain, who was paying more attention to the running TV than to Jimmy. (And yes, the captain _had_ been watching TV all night long. So now Jimmy had a ghost with poltergeist abilities. Joy. This was getting old _fast_.)

Jimmy gave up halfway through his bowl of cereal. He dumped the rest down the sink and went to sit on the other end of the couch, as physically far away from the ghost as possible.

"What's the letter you want me to write?"

The captain turned off the TV and turned to Jimmy, giving him a small smile. "It's to my brother. You see…"

The captain, it turned out, had a brother he hadn't spoken to in fourteen years. It had been a silly, stupid argument that had grown into a grudge, and the captain regretting not connecting with his brother again before he'd died. They'd been close as children, the captain said, and he'd missed that bond, but had just been too stubborn to give in. The letter he wanted Jimmy to write was an apology to try and mend fences, even if it was too late now.

So long as the captain's brother knew the captain was no longer angry and didn't blame the brother for the fight, the captain could go and rest in peace.

Jimmy knew it was stupid. He shouldn't be listening to this. He shouldn't be doing this at all. He should be going to the hospital and asking for a brain scan to check for tumors. This was _crazy_, and despite yesterday's activities, Jimmy still only half believed he was _really_ talking to a ghost.

Instead, he pulled out a notepad and a pen.

"What do you want me to write?"

**XXXX**

There was no mail service on Sunday. That was fine, the captain assured him. His brother lived just an hour away. Jimmy could drive there and back and deliver the letter. Easy as pie.

"What if it's not the right address?" Jimmy asked, sitting in the car with the letter in his pocket and the captain in the passenger's seat. "You said it's been fourteen years since you've talked. What if he's moved?"

"He hasn't," the captain assured him. "He still sends Christmas cards. I just never look at them. The grudge was all on my side."

So Jimmy set out, feeling nervous and strange and wondering if his psychosis was just taking over. He ought to be doing anything _but_ delivering a letter from a dead man to a complete stranger. He needed to be at a hospital getting this looked at.

He needed to be doing…just…_anything else_.

Instead, he drove, and when they got closer, he followed the captain's directions to a small, nondescript two-story house with a pretty garden and an actual white picket fence. At the captain's urging, Jimmy slowly climbed out of the car, glanced furtively around, and then, moving as fast as possible, slammed the letter in the mailbox and rushed back to his car.

The captain smiled. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for the trouble this past week. I do appreciate this."

Jimmy gave the ghost a strained smile. "No problem. Let's not do this again."

The captain laughed. "Of course not. Goodbye, Mr. Palmer." The captain tipped his head and climbed out of the car. As Jimmy pulled away, he saw the ghost striding up to the door of the little house and knock on it.

Jimmy turned the corner before he could see if anyone answered. Which was good; _that_ would have been a bit too unsettling. It was one thing dealing with a poltergeist-ghost watching TV when he thought it was all in his head; it was another thing seeing someone else react to the ghost. Couldn't handle that, oh no.

Halfway home, Jimmy was gripped by a sudden flash of panick. What if this _was_ all in his head, and he'd just stuck a letter in some stranger's mailbox because he was following a delusion? He needed to go back there and get the letter and bring it to the hospital as proof of his mental illness. Oh god…

He actually turned around. Then he pulled on the side of the road and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

"It's fine," he told himself. "It's totally fine." Even if the letter was going to the wrong house, the people living there could just send it back. Since Jimmy hadn't put his own return address down (he wasn't _that_ stupid) the letter would just end up getting lost in the post office.

And he'd had a theory about this before, didn't he? That if he wrote the stupid letter, the captain would disappear, whether or not the ghost was real or just in his head. Well, he'd written and delivered the letter, and the captain was gone now. Maybe this was just a small mental break, and he was fine now.

Jimmy took a deep breath, fortifying himself. Okay. He would leave it as it was, for now. The captain was gone. It was _fine_.

For now, he was fine.

And if he went back to work tomorrow, and he saw any more ghosts, he would take Abby up on her suggestion and go seek professional help.

But for now, he was just fine.

Jimmy turned around and headed home.

**XXXX**

Jimmy was at home.

Not his apartment, but his actual _home_. His mother's home, now, but it was the place he'd grown up, the place he'd left when he went to college. Jimmy looked around, listening to the birds chirp, the dog up the street barking, rocking gently in the porch swing.

"This is a dream, isn't it?"

Sitting next to him, Captain Jonathan Shire quietly said, "Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

They rocked in silence for a while, which was fine. It was a lazy summer day. Jimmy didn't have anywhere to be.

The Higgins boy from up the street ran by. When Jimmy last visited his home, the Higgins boy was sixteen and sulking in his room all the time; now, he was maybe eight, running by with a happy yell as he chased his dog. It made Jimmy smile a little.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked. Not that this wasn't enjoyable and all, this little visit to the past, but it was a little weird. And anyway, he'd thought that the captain would be gone and moved on now, not hanging around inside Jimmy's head. It didn't bode well for his sanity.

"You're not insane, Mr. Palmer. You know that, right?"

Oh, great. The captain was a mind reader now.

"Not a mind reader. It's just…easier to see things here. This place is a little more open than the real world."

Which was not as reassuring as Jimmy wanted.

So, instead, he changed the subject.

"How did the letter go over?"

A smile split the captain's face, and the sheer force of it made Jimmy smile too. "It went really well. He cried a little when he read it. But he was smiling a little too. It was enough. I did what I needed to do."

"Then...sorry, not to be rude, but then why are you here?"

"You're not insane, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy looked at his feet, kicking the porch so the swing kept moving. "Yeah. You said that."

The captain looked at him, his eyes piercing and stern. "But _you_ need to believe it. You _can_ see ghosts. You need to know that. I won't be the only one. There are a lot of us who can't let go, who need help moving on. You're the last link we've got. You can't be institutionalized if you're going to help."

"I don't want to help. I don't want to do this."

The captain sighed, but it was a sound of understanding. "I can imagine. But sometimes, Mr. Palmer, these things just happen. Responsibilities fall in your lap, and you have to be a man and do your duty. There are so very few who can see what you see, Mr. Palmer. If you don't help the lonely souls who can't let go, no one can."

Jimmy looked down at his hands, twisting in his shirt. He kicked the swing into motion once more. "So I can see ghosts now," he asked in a way that wasn't really a question.

The captain's answer was simple and blunt. "Yes."

"Why? Why _me_?"

A small chuckle left the captain's mouth. "Being dead doesn't give me omnipotence, Mr. Palmer. I honestly couldn't tell you. Maybe you just opened your eyes and started seeing what was there. It's a rare gift. You should take care of it."

Jimmy didn't look up from his hands, just twisted them in his shirt some more. "I don't know if I can do this. I could barely manage to get your letter out, and now Abby thinks I've gone crazy, and…and…"

The captain stood and clasped a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. The assistant looked up, and the captain smiled genially down at him. "Don't worry about Miss Abby, Mr. Palmer. I've taken care of that. You'll be able to do this. Have faith. You'll be alright." Removing his hand, the captain looked towards the end of the yard. "And now, it's time for me to go."

Jimmy peered around the ghost's side and saw a taxi idling at the end of the drive. He frowned. "Wait, that's it? You're moving on in a taxi cab?"

The captain laughed. "Well, how would you think I should move on? Angels and trumpets? Not really my style." Chuckling, he shook his head, stepping down off the porch. "Remember what I said, Mr. Palmer. This is a gift. Use it, do your duty, and you'll be alright. I promise." The captain tipped his hat, and, as Jimmy watched, he strolled down the sidewalk and climbed into the cab.

The cab didn't drive off. It just sort of faded away. Jimmy wasn't surprised. This was a dream, after all. He just sat there, rocking quietly, watching his past as he waited for morning.

**XXXX**

Monday morning came. Jimmy woke up staring at the ceiling, and he _believed_.

**XXXX**

Okay. So the ghost problem was solved. For now. Jimmy had no doubt that he would see another ghost again. Something about the dream last night had converted him totally. He wasn't crazy; he could see ghosts. And he'd seen enough TV shows to know that this sort of thing wasn't a one-time deal.

That was alright. It wasn't so scary when he wasn't thinking he was crazy.

And the Abby problem could be fixed. The captain was gone, so Jimmy didn't have to lie when he said the issue was over and he didn't need to talk to Dr. Mallard. What he would do when the next ghost came along, he wasn't sure. He would _so_ have liked a confidant…

"Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!"

He paused as Abby bounded up, eyes bright, pigtails waving about her head. Jimmy was momentarily distracted by her boots -matte black leather with neon green racing stripes up the side- but his mind snapped back into focus when she said, "Jimmy, I totally believe you!"

He gaped at her. "What?"

She grabbed his hands, bouncing in place, her eyes alight with delight. "I believe you! Last night, I had this dream. Well, I always have dreams, but this one was _special_! The captain came and he shook my head and complimented my tattoos and he asked if I would help you because you're _special_ and you're really seeing what you said you saw and then he disappeared into this gorgeous glowing light! And I know you're probably thinking it was all just a dream, but I know the difference between a dream and reality, and okay, this was totally a dream, but it was also totally something that happened too! I just _know_ it!"

By the end of her rant, Jimmy got lost. When she finished, he was still gaping a little.

Abby just made a happy sound and jumped up to hug him. "Oh, Jimmy, this is so exciting! The next ghost you meet, you absolutely _have_ to tell me! You just _have_ to!" She released him from the hug, whirling towards her labs. "I have to do so much _reading_!"

Jimmy continued to gape at her long after she'd left. Slowly, though, it sank in what she'd said.

_She believed him_.

She didn't think he was crazy, or hallucinating, or imagining things. She _believed him_, which was absolutely what he'd been going for in the first place. A small smile crept across his face, replacing his blank dead-fish look.

She believed him. He had exactly the confidant he wanted.

So that's what the captain meant, when he'd said he'd taken care of the problem with Abby.

_Thank you, Captain._

Now he just had to get used to having this weird ability…

**XXXX**

It was another three cases before he saw his next ghost.

She was pretty, despite the black eye on her face and the bruises on her neck. Jimmy stood faithfully beside Dr. Mallard as the older examiner took a liver temperature and the agents took pictures.

Jimmy found his attention caught by the shivering, huddled form beside Agent Gibbs. She was staring down at her body, a look of mortified horror on her face that Jimmy could all too easily empathize with.

As Dr. Mallard moved back, Jimmy knelt down, making like he was tying his shoe. But he leaned close enough to murmur in the dead woman's ear, "It's alright, Petty Officer. We'll take care of you. You'll be alright."

When he stood, the dead Petty Officer was watching him with wide eyes. He gave her a small smile.

Slowly, she smiled back.

As he turned to get the gurney from the van, he heard, just barely audible, a small "Thank you."

Jimmy Palmer talked to dead people.

And occasionally, they talked back.

**OOOO**

**Jimmy Palmer has always been one of my favorite characters, despite being a relatively minor character in the course of things. I've always wanted to write a Jimmy story, but I could never come up with a halfway decent plot. Then I had this idea, and though it took several weeks to polish it the way I wanted, I'm pleased with how it turned out. I hope all the other Jimmy lovers out there will like it as well.**

**If you liked it, please leave a note! They make me warm and fuzzy inside.**

**~Until next time!**


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